


Saved

by harrysnewds (larrystylinsass)



Category: Larry Stylinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, larry stylinson - Freeform, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 14:58:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/larrystylinsass/pseuds/harrysnewds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is suffering from severe mental illness, and nothing can stop him from jumping. But then Louis Tomlinson is thrown into his life and shows him how to love and be happy. Harry will always keep his first love and savior close to his heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [louistomlinsons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louistomlinsons/gifts).



“Darcy, sweetheart, you can’t get that. You already have some ice cream at home,” I softly scold, grabbing the cartoon and putting it back in the store’s the freezer.

Darcy crosses her arms and stomps her foot. I laugh; she is such a drama queen sometimes. Kneeling down to hurt height, I stroke her cheeks and fix her dress.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” I suggest. She perks up and listens closer. “If you behave for the rest of the day, I’ll take you out for ice cream after dinner. How about that?”

She jumps up, chocolate curls bouncing as she does. “Thank you, daddy.” She kisses my cheek and tugs me along.

“What’s next on the list, captain?” I joke. She loves it when I call her that; it gives her a sense of authority, and if there’s one thing my daughter loves, it’s being in charge.

“We need milk,” she declares, pointing towards our next stop. I pick her up and place her in the basket. When she was “Captain Darcy”, she liked to be in command of the basket-or ship, as she called it.

As we approached the milk, the notes of a familiar song began to play. The smile that was always plastered onto my face when I was around Darcy faded. I had to stop pushing the cart for a second, just to pause and listen. God, how long has it been? Ten years? Fifteen? All those memories came back in a rush, a nostalgic, paralyzingly rush.

“Daddy?” my daughter’s voice called, snapping me out of my flashback.

I shook my head and pretended to smile. Darcy was still young, she would believe it.

“Nothing, darling,” I reassure, “Let’s go get that milk, okay?”

One meal and a trip to the ice cream parlor later, I was putting Darcy to bed. It was already eight, and, even if it was Saturday, she needed to sleep.

“Daddy, why do you like that song so much?” she asked innocently. I knew she was referring to the incident at the grocery store; she’d been bugging me about it all day.

I sighed. Darcy was two things: smart and curious. Of course she would find out sooner or later. It’s better if I’m the one to tell her, anyways.

“Darcy,” I begin, sliding into the bed beside her and pulling her onto my lap, “Let me tell you a story.”


	2. Chapter One

Today’s the day. I’m nineteen now, and I promised my fifteen year old self that I would do it if I still wasn’t happy. I should’ve gone with more realistic conditions, really. How can you be happy-I mean really, truly happy-with OCD? Every hour is a constant battle; thought after horrifying thought haunt me day and night, driving me to perform my senseless rituals… As if they would alleviate my pain, as if they would somehow heal me. My life is just an endless cycle of inexorable fear and anxiety.

I think the problem is that you can never quite escape from a psychological disorder. No matter what you do: therapy sessions, medicine, hospitals. Your disorder doesn’t care; it doesn’t listen. It’s almost like a bully; driving you to do things that you really don’t want to do, taking precious time away from your life, tearing you down from the inside out. The scary thing is that no science can save you; the cure comes from within, and few are strong enough to win the war.

So here I am, standing on the edge of this bridge on the coldest night in November. Damn, why didn’t I allow myself to wear a coat? Snowflakes dance down and tickle my face. A store down the street is playing music. I recognize the song. It’s “The Way You Look Tonight” by Tony Bennett, I believe.

It kind of makes me wish I didn’t have to do this. Shaking, I reach out and clutch the light pole to my right. I close my eyes; this isn’t going to be pretty. "Ok, start the countdown," I whisper aloud. It’s the last thing I’ll ever say.

“5… 4… 3… 2… 1-“

“The stars look exceptionally beautiful tonight, don’t you think?” a soft voice erupts behind me.

Shit, I can’t jump with someone watching. It’s one thing to be screwed up yourself, but to force it onto someone else?

“What do you want?” I snap, only slightly turning around for fear of falling.

From what I can see, he holds his hands up as a sign of surrender. “Woah, Curly,” he chuckles, “Just making small talk, is all.”

“Well go make small talk somewhere else. I’m busy.”

He nods and walks towards where I stand, resting his arms on the ledge and looking up to me.

I can see him better now. He has really nice blue eyes. The longer I stare into them, the more I question what I’m about to do. They’re just so… Welcoming, so warm. Looking straight at them, I feel like I can do anything.

I shake my head and look away. Calm yourself, Styles. You don’t even know this boy’s name.

“What are you busy with?” the boy presses, snapping me out of my thoughts. He was smart enought to wear a trench coat, making me look foolish in my short-sleeve v-neck and jeans.

I snort. Can’t he take a hint? “That is none of your concern, really.” I’m being quite rude, aren’t I? No matter, I’ll never see him again.

“This is a nice song, isn’t it? Classic,” he says, trying to keep up a conversation. He starts to sing along. What a nice voice he has.

I don’t reply.

The honey-brown haired boy continues. “My name’s Louis Tomlinson. What about you?” he asks casually, as if he wasn’t talking to a suicidal kid.

“Harry. Harry Styles,” I answer. Maybe if I talk to him, he’ll go away.

Silence follows. It’s not uncomfortable, though. I feel as though I’ve known this Louis Tomlinson my whole life. That might be because when we made eye contact I swear I saw our future. And what a beautiful future it was.

After a couple minutes, he pulls himself up onto the ledge so he’s standing beside me. I gasp and demand that he get down. It’s not safe up here.

“What?” he laughs, “You can be up here, but I can’t?”

“You’re too pretty to die,” I say without thought. Shit, I’ve always been very impulsive.

“And you’re not?”

I blush. Jesus, he was charming. Louis was apparently one of those who had an effortless way with words.

“I tell you what, Harry Styles,” Louis proposes, “I’ll get down if you come with me.”

With that he jumps down and lands back on solid ground, extending a hand for me to take. I reach out, trembling like mad, and grasp it. He helps me down. Somewhere during that process, I slip and fall, which results in me falling on top of Louis. He laughs.

“If you wanted to do that, you just had to ask!” he teases, standing up and brushing off. “So why don’t we get a hot chocolate? I mean, I did just save your life."

I’m speechless. Why did my hero have to be so good-looking? “Um. Sure.”

He takes my hand again and swings it back and forth like a child. We walk to the local coffee shop.

Why I came down that day, I’ll never know. But one thing I know for sure: in that moment, even if I’d only known him for five minutes, I was in love with Louis Tomlinson.


	3. Chapter Two

"I'm glad you agreed to let me take you to dinner, Curly," Louis announces, tearing off a piece of bread and eating it. 

"It's the least I could do. I mean, you did save my life, after all," I joke. He laughs, which makes his eyes squint and his perfect teeth show. God, he is so pretty. 

It has been exactly one day since Louis had flirted me out of suicide. He told me that if the circumsances were different, he probably would've waited a little longer, but there's no telling when I'm going to blow, and time is of the essence with Louis. Life's too short to waste time-that's his motto. 

So here we are at a local pizzeria. The servers all talk with thick Italian accents, as it is family-owned and not one of those ridiculous chains. They serve their drinks in jars, which I personally love; it adds to the familiar, just-a-meal-at-home feel of the place. That savory scent that all pizza joints have-that one that's kinda sharp but kinda soft and also kinda heavy-takes over my sense of smell with fresh baked dough and boiling sauce. The pianist in the corner starts to play, "The Way You Look Tonight". I swear, that song is following me. 

Louis practically choked on his soda. "Hey," he says, pointing up as if the notes were floating in the air, "It's our song." 

I nod. "So it seems," I agree. 

"When we get married, this is the song we're having our first dance to, just so you know," Louis declares. I admire his confidence; it makes me feel safe, secure. 

"What makes you so sure we'll get married?"

He leans back in his chair, resting his feet on a bar underneath the table. After carefully placing his hands behind his head, a rather convincing attempt to show his dominance, he speaks. "Let's be real here, Harry. This is classic storybook." 

I give him a confused but vaguely interested look. "How so?" I press, leaning in. 

He follows my gesture and moves closer to me. We're both inches away now and holding up ourselves with our elbows. "C'mon, now. You can't be that oblivious," he mutters. "Boy saves boy's life. Boy takes boy on date. Boy falls in love with boy. Dramatic tragedy. Happy ending." 

I distance myself from him, the instensity of the moment proving too much for me. 

The rest of the dinner, we talk about our lives. We talk about our past and what we dream to be our future, and I tell the truth for once in my life; I let him in, and I'm not sure why. I've never warmed to people easily, and I'm already falling for Louis. 

Keeping up with the living-a-fairy-tale theme, Louis drives me home and walks me to my door like a true gentlemen. As he opens my door, he stretches out his hand towards mine. "May I?" he asks, wondering if he can hold it. I blush and nod, intertwining my fingers with his. We take our time walking to the door. It's a fact that neither of us want the night to be over. 

Unfortunately, life doesn't work like stories do, and we arrive at my house's entrance within seconds. Louis looks down at his feet while blowing out an exaggerated breath and grabbing my other hand. 

"So..." he begins, tilting up and down on his feet like lovesick people do when they're nervous. 

Picking up on his doubt, I decide to finish for him. "I had a great time tonight. Thanks for dinner." 

"Please, Styles, it was my pleasure," he gushes, shaking his head to dismiss my appreciation. 

"Does that mean we'll be doing this again sometime?" 

There he goes again with that paralyzing smile. "I'm free tomorrow." 

Because I'm a very sarcastic asshole, I make a noise and look off into the distance. "Gosh," I say, "I'm not sure if I am..." 

He rolls his eyes and momentarily disconnects our hands to smack my arm. It's all in good fun, though. I mean, we're both laughing. Funny, when he laughs it's like I'm watching a meteor shower in his eyes.

"Kidding," I excuse, "Pick me up tomorrow at six, yeah?" 

He nods. "I'll be there." Then, he begins to make his way back to his car. 

"Wait, Louis," I call. He turns around, hands in his coat pocket. "You said that this was a fairy tale, right?" Grinning wildly, he nods, pushing me to continue. "Well does the prince not kiss his love on the first date?"

That's all the invitation he needs. Immediately, he trots back up the stairs and places his hands on my waist, pulling me closer. "I thought you'd never ask," he breaths, connecting our lips. 

Damn, what a beautiful kiss that was. Have you ever kissed someone and just became them? Suddenly, the world stops rotating and starts spinning. The only people that exist are you and him/her. The only time is here and now. With that single kiss, you pledge yourself to that person, and they promise themselves to you. 

That's what kissing Louis was like. It's a shame, really; falling in love is so much more beautiful when it takes longer than a first kiss.


	4. Chapter Three

"I'm glad you agreed to let me take you to dinner, Curly," Louis announces, tearing off a piece of bread and eating it. 

"It's the least I could do. I mean, you did save my life, after all," I joke. He laughs, which makes his eyes squint and his perfect teeth show. God, he is so pretty. 

It has been exactly one day since Louis had flirted me out of suicide. He told me that if the circumsances were different, he probably would've waited a little longer, but there's no telling when I'm going to blow, and time is of the essence with Louis. "Life's too short to waste time," that's his motto. 

So here we are at a local pizzeria. The servers all talk with thick Italian accents, as it is family-owned and not one of those ridiculous chains. They serve their drinks in jars, which I personally love; it adds to the faniliar, just-a-meal-at-home feel of the place. That savory scent that all pizza joints have-that one that's kinda sharp but kinda soft and also kinda heavy-takes over my sense of smell with fresh baked dough and boiling sauce. The pianist in the corner starts to play, "The Way You Look Tonight". I swear, that song is following me. 

Louis practically choked on his soda. "Hey," he says, pointing up as if the notes were floating in the air, "It's our song." 

I nod. "So it seems," I agree. 

"When we get married, this is the song we're having our first dance to, just so you know," Louis declares. I admired his confidence; it makes me feel safe. 

"What makes you so sure we'll get married?" I joke. 

He leans back in his chair, resting his feet on a bar underneath the table. After carefully placing his hands behind his hands almost as a show of dominance, he speaks. "Let's be real here, Harry. This is classic storybook." 

I give him a confused but vaguely interested look. "How so?" I press, leaning in. 

He follows my gesture and moves closer to me. We're both inches away now and holding up ourselves with our elbows. "C'mon, now. You can't be that oblivious," he mutters. "Boy saves boy's life. Boy takes boy on date. Boy falls in love with boy. Dramatic tragedy. Happy ending." 

I distance myself from him, the instensity of the moment proving too much for me. 

The rest of the dinner, we talk about our lives. We talk about our past and what we dream to be our future, and I tell the truth for once in my life; I let him in, and I'm not sure why. I've never warmed to people easily, and I'm already falling for Louis. 

Keeping up with the living-a-fairy-tale theme, Louis drives me home and walks me to my door like a true gentlemen. As he opens my door, he stretches out his hand towards mine. "May I?" he asks, wondering if he can hold it. I blush and nod, intertwining my fingers with his. We take our time walking to the door. It's a fact that neither of us want the night to be over. 

Unfortunately, life doesn't work like stories do, and we arrive at my house's entrance. Louis looks down at his feet while blowing out an exaggerated breath and grabbing my other hand. 

"So..." he begins, tilting up and down on his feet like lovesick people do. 

Picking up on his doubt, I decide to finish for him. "I had a great time tonight. Thanks for dinner." 

"Please, Styles, it was my pleasure," he gushes, shaking his head to dismiss my appreciation. 

"Does that mean we'll be doing this again sometime?" 

There he goes again with that paralyzing smile. "I'm free tomorrow." 

Because I'm a very sarcastic asshole, I make a noise and look off into the distance. "Gosh," I say, "I'm not sure if I am..." 

He rolls his eyes and momentarily disconnects our hands to smack my arm. It's all in good fun, though. I mean, we're both laughing. Funny, when he laughs it's like I'm watching a meteor shower in his eyes. 

"Kidding," I excuse, "Pick me up tomorrow at six, yeah?" 

He nods. "I'll be there." Then, he begins to make his way back to his car. 

"Wait, Louis," I call. He turns around, hands in his coat pocket. "You said that this was a fairy tale, right?" Grinning wildly, he nods, pushing me to continue. "Well does the prince not kiss his love on the first date?"

That's all the invitation he needs. Immediately, he trots back up the stairs and places his hands on my waist, pulling me closer. "I thought you'd never ask," he breaths, connecting our lips. 

Damn, what a beautiful kiss that was. Have you ever kissed someone and just became them? Suddenly, the world stops rotating and starts spinning. The only people that exist are you and him/her. The only time is here and now. With that single kiss, you pledge yourself to that person, and they promise themselves to you. 

That's what kissing Louis was like. It's a shame, really; falling in love is so much more beautiful when it takes longer than a first kiss.


End file.
